


Trapped in a Cycle

by SolitaryMess



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitaryMess/pseuds/SolitaryMess
Summary: She pulled out the only mugshot in the case files, appraising the woman whom she’d been hired to assess weekly. Two heterochromic eyes peered back at her with such hostility it was hard to breathe. A lifetime of blood and storms lived behind those eyes. Her world narrowed till a singular point, combing avidly over every inch of the woman in the photo A latticework of scars littered her arms in long violent paint strokes. Her face was an envious copper hue, that made her freckles stand out; and she had the most unruly mane of hair Adora had ever seen.Her suddenly stuttering pulse could be written off as dread.It wasn’t anticipation.It couldn’t be.That would imply she was eager to interact with a sociopath.OrIt doesn't matter what reality they are in:Catra and Adora repeat the same mistakes, fight the same battles, and sacrifice everything for each other over and over again.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was hit with a bit of inspiration after the finale, enjoy the ride folks

“Here’s her file. There’s notes from her last three psychologists in the discovery section. She hospitalized the last one, who diagnosed her as excessively violent and unhinged.”

Adora wordlessly accepted the hefty folder from Angella, a frown creasing her features as she tried to estimate how long it would take to memorize its contents. She didn’t have a wealth of time to study. Her introduction to the inmate was scheduled for three o’clock. A quick glance at her watch forecasted less than an hour to prepare. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell the psychopaths-that they are psychopaths.” Adora stated in an airy tone as she paged through the profile of her newest case. Murder. Kidnapping. Aggravated assault. Conspiracy. Illegal possession of a handgun. Illegal modification of a rifle. The list went on for some time till the words started to bleed together on the page. “What hasn’t she done?”

They were sitting at one of the only clean tables in the prison lobby. Angella wore an expression of carefully masked neutrality as she considered the question. “She hasn’t gotten a speeding ticket.” 

The words pried a laugh from Adora, before she could stifle it. “Maybe she’s not a completely lost cause then.” 

Angella’s blank expression shuttered, flickering in the dim lighting with an unrecognizable emotion. “Don’t make that assumption without evidence. She tore another inmate’s ear off with her teeth two days ago. She will try to capitalize off your good nature Adora. I know this is your first case in a long time, but you can’t take her lightly.” The warning was meant to alarm her. Everything Angella did was premeditated. Working with her was always a perfunctory lesson in caution. She always managed to make Adora feel small and reckless in comparison.

She could see why Glimmer felt the need to rebel so often.

“You came to me.” Adora reminded Angella, because she wasn’t her subordinate. She was an outside contractor the prison had hired. “You’re going to have to trust me, or hand this shit show over to someone else.” She waved the folder insistently between them, blue eyes taking on a defiant gleam. 

  
  


Angella’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the contortion of her expression was the only thing defiling her crisp appearance. There was never a time when Angella didn’t look like a royal emissary forced to mingle with the commoners. “No. It has to be you. I fear no one else has the skill set to survive this woman. I just want you to be careful. Game nights will be dreadfully boring if something happens to you.”

Adora’s expression softened, the shadows of being scorned by an authority figure chased away in an instant.

Her relationship with Angella toed the line of professional, while in the prison walls but there was years of history between them. They shared an unwavering love for Glimmer, that started when Adora was in college. They shared a mountain of cases when Adora finally got her degree. Eventually Adora became a part of Angella’s family despite numerous protests that went ignored over the years.

“I am always careful.” Adora groused, ignoring the incredulous expression being sent her way. “It will be fine.”

The words felt damning as they hung in the air between them.

Adora should stop making impossible promises. 

She could never guarantee things were going to be fine.

"I suppose we will see." Angella didn’t press the subject further, she simply gathered her briefcase, and all the other knick knacks a lawyer of her stature carried with them. There were doubtlessly other cases she had to contend with besides Adora’s new inmate. Angella hadn’t truly stopped working since her husband perished in an unfortunate accident an eternity ago. The bags under her eyes were several years old, but no one could tell under the thin veneer of makeup she put on every morning. “Game night. Don’t be late.” Angella patted her shoulder before sweeping out of the double doors behind her.

Adora nodded dutifully, because _yes_ she wanted to rob her elitist family of their paycheck on Friday, but no she wasn’t going to focus on that right now. 

Time was of the essence.

Forty minutes were all she had left. 

She wanted to break down the novel length profile into sections so she scattered the pages across the desk so she could inspect them one by one. The prognosis each psychologist wrote down offered the bare minimum of information. She only skimmed those.

What truly captured Adora’s interest was the graphic account of the crimes committed. Several pictures of filleted bodies, cut to barely discernible shreds were included in the folder. Brutal decapitations in vivid color spoke volumes of her inmate’s character. There was insurmountable rage behind every single atrocity.Testimonials from eyewitnesses were also key pieces of the puzzle forming in Adora’s mind. “Stuffed a woman’s head in a microwave when she was fifteen, gunned down several innocents when she was twenty-” Adora rattled off each deed with a growing sense of trepidation.

  
  


How had this many bodies stacked up in such a short time?

She pulled out the only mugshot in the case files, appraising the woman whom she’d been hired to assess weekly. Two heterochromic eyes peered back at her with such hostility it was hard to breathe. A lifetime of blood and storms lived behind those eyes. Her world narrowed till a singular point, combing avidly over every inch of the woman in the photo A latticework of scars littered her arms in long violent paint strokes. Her face was an envious copper hue, that made her freckles stand out; and she had the most unruly mane of hair Adora had ever seen.

Her suddenly stuttering pulse could be written off as dread.

It wasn’t anticipation.

It couldn’t be.

That would imply she was eager to interact with a sociopath.

_I’m not. It’s professional curiosity._ The words sounded hollow within the confines of her brain where there was no one she had to convince. Angella would be justifiably horrified if she could read thoughts. 

Luckily, Adora was alone.

The guards stationed outside the door didn’t interrupt her for thirty minutes. In that time, She soaked up every word like it was something she was going to be tested on. There were some holes in the profile. For instance, there was nothing that delved into personal history: no record of a birth certificate, no mention of parents, or glimpses into the inmates childhood. All historical accounts of this one inmate were missing, except the name- and age.

_Catra Weaver. 25._

A knock startled her from her musings. “Adora, are you ready?” One of the guards poked her head through the door. The corn rows, and contagious smile on her features was familiar. Her name hovered just out of reach. “It’s 2:55.”

“Thanks Lana.” Adora awkwardly stumbled over the guess, immediately realizing her mistake when the guard sent her a strange look. 

“It’s Lonnie.” The soft correction made her cheeks warm. She was fucking terrible with names. It was one of her many character flaws. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. I hope you aren’t actually this easy to embarrass.”

Adora paused, because she’d never once in her life been a capable liar. Her emotions were distinctly written all over her face. “Not at all."

Lonnie blinked, clearly skeptical. "Jesus. Is that your lying face? Catra is going to eat you alive." Once again the statement should inspire fear instead of whatever deranged emotion was clawing at her throat. Adora didn't care what anyone said, she was a capable professional who wasn't going to be unbalanced by a patient. 

"She can try." Adora grunted, gathering her files and her notebook she'd brought from home. Standing up with more grace than she normally exhibited, she left the quiet lobby to follow Lonnie down the hall. The prison wasn't exactly a sterile environment for anyone. It was dark, dimly lit, and every door they walked through seemed to groan in discontent. They passed a check point where Adora had to leave her jacket behind, and any other sort of paraphernalia that might be considered a weapon or be used to conceal one. Lonnie would have confiscated her pen too if Adora didn't insist on keeping it, so she could take notes.

"Don't think for a moment she won't try and stab you with that if she gets too close." Lonnie informed her, with a subtle shake of her head. 

**_If she can take it from me._** The belligerent thought was accompanied by a stubborn clench of her jaw. Adora wasn't just a dainty woman with a doctorate. Under her thin tank top there was muscle tone from years of mixed martial arts. Her pride wouldn’t let her entertain weakness, physically or mentally.

  
Lonnie wouldn’t know that though.

To the prison guard, she was just an awkward bumbling blonde, who was naively walking into a monster’s den.

Adora husked out a sigh, as they continued to trek through the ominous corridor. 

Their surroundings changed the moment they ducked through a heavily fortified metal door. They hadn’t taken the route to where the general population was locked away. Catra apparently required special accommodations. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the silence that followed, and Adora clutched her paperwork tightly against their chest as they passed rows upon rows of doors. Each one had a panel to peer in, and a complicated deadbolt to contend with.

They reached the end of the hall, stopping in front of the last containment chamber.

Two guards she didn’t recognize were standing imposingly in front of them. Adora could barely make out their eyes beneath their helmets, and her gaze kept straying to the rifles they held like a cross against their chest to ward off evil.

“She’s here for Catra.” Lonnie stated breezily, while patting the arm of the bulkier individual.

“They sent another one?” The question was a wheeze from the less intimidating of the pair. “We can’t seriously have this much hospital funding.”

“Shut up Kyle.” Lonnie grumbled good naturedly, punching the twig like arm of‘Kyle’ who almost dropped his rifle in surprise. “Just let her in, and keep the observation panel open. Rogelio you know what to do if things start heading south.” The brawny guard made a noise of agreement before carefully keying a secret code into the touchpad behind him. An ominous click precluded the door creaking open. Adora almost expected the trio to follow her as she cautiously stepped into the containment cell.

It was almost a relief when she heard the door swing shut.

The warden of the prison had briefed her on the safety procedures in place when dealing with Catra. 

It was different to actually see them in place though.

The containment cell was different than she imagined. There was a cot with visible tears scarring it’s surface shoved against a wall. There was a toilet that looked far from sanitary in the corner. The only real furnishing outside of those was the desk strategically placed in the middle of the room. There was a chair for her, and directly opposite of her seat was Catra Weaver.

Her wrists were shackled together as a precaution. Chains bolted to the floor denied the woman any real mobility; and kept her firmly rooted to her perch on the chair. Two distinctly different colored eyes pinned Adora in place, holding the air hostage in her lungs. _“Hey, Adora.”_

The greeting was said in a soft purr, like they were old friends, and Adora couldn’t believe how fast her traitorous body seemed to react to two simple words. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Who told Catra her name?

Her arrival should have elicited a different reaction. Irritation maybe? But not this. Not Catra staring at her with a smirk that seemed painfully familiar, addressing Adora in a tone that bordered on inappropriate. The photo she’d seen in her files didn’t do Catra Weaver justice. Her body was a canvas of old scars, and faint purple marks. In her time in isolation she’d lost quite a bit of weight, but there was still an alarming amount of danger that wafted off her, like she was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Adora didn’t retreat though.

Shaking her head to dispel the mounting anxiety clouding her thoughts, Adora determinedly trekked over to the open chair to sit down, well aware of Catra’s gaze tracking her every move. 

“That’s not the first thing I expected you to say.” Her voice portrayed a calm she didn’t feel. Fighting to keep her composure intact, Adora deposited the file of Catra on the table between them, and opened her notebook to the first page, so she was ready to start scribbling if needed.

“Would you prefer I be boring and predictable?” The taunt was well executed, because it caused an odd churning in her gut. 

“No. ” Adora stated, steepling her fingers together so she could rest her chin between them. “While I’m here, I’d prefer you just be yourself.”

Something flickered in Catra’s expression-a ghost of recognition that disintegrated into mirth. Seething, violent, unpredictable mirth that made her chains rattle as Catra pulled them taut, leaning in to bare blunt human teeth at Adora. “That’s fucking rich coming from _you. ”_ The hiss was so accusatory it felt like a knife sliding between her ribs. She had nothing to feel guilty about, but there was hidden depth to Catra’s anger. It raged indiscriminately, even though Adora had never done anything to deserve being a recipient of it. “Didn’t you come here to save me from myself? Isn’t that what you **_do?”_**

Adora frowned, unsure of why the steady stream of jeers bothered her so much.

“I’m just here to talk.” She said carefully, mindful of the tension between them, and the way her heart was hammering in her ribcage. The adrenaline pulsing through her body wasn’t normal. Venomous replies constricted her throat, and she couldn’t explain why it felt like they’d lived this argument a hundred times before. “Or here to listen, if you let me, but how things proceed is up to you. I can’t change anyone.” Adora stated bluntly, a hint of self deprecation coloring her words.

She’d tried before.

It never worked.

Psychology didn’t promote change. It promoted understanding, and coping mechanisms. That was it. Catra either didn’t know that or didn’t care, because the raw visceral snarl contorting her features didn’t waver. “I don’t need a hero, or a therapist.”

Adora took that as a challenge. Her blue eyes sparkled with barely concealed curiosity. “Let’s talk about that. Do you know what you need?”

Catra stared at her-some of her fire waning as she considered the question. Adora almost expected another provocation. What she received instead shattered any illusions of civility there might have been between them.

“I need you to suffer, Adora.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Lines in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the muse struck, and there's a double update this week. 
> 
> I don't know when exactly the next one is coming-probably in a week or so.

**_I need you to suffer Adora._ **

Adora stared at Catra breathlessly, wondering what prompted such a hostile declaration. “Is there usually a reason you want to hurt people?” Some psychopaths were driven to do despicable things, because they couldn’t control their violent impulses. Adora could not tell if Catra counted as one of them yet. “Does the thought of violence excite you?” Her pen tapped against her notebook restlessly after each inquiry, although she didn’t expect an answer at all.

Catra didn’t want to neatly fit into any conventional box.

That was evident in every conflicting movement she made. Her fingers dug into the table, exhibiting frustration, even while the rest of her seemed to deflate. “You’re so entitled. I don’t owe you a tour through my fucked up head. If you’re so fucking clever, you tell me what excites me.” 

Adora didn’t respond to the challenge immediately.

She wanted to meticulously describe every detail about Catra, so she could start building her own profile of her. 

  * _Catra did have aggressiveness tendencies. (Although what motivated her was unclear)_


  * Catra liked to belittle Adora, and her chosen profession. 


  * Catra tended to project her fury; and inadequacy onto others.



“So far I know you’re impulsive, and like to get under people’s skin.” Adora chuckled, without looking up from her notebook. “You enjoy being seen as a threat, and you want me to feel threatened by you.”

“You’re not?” Catra asked, after taking a moment to absorb Adora’s estimation of her character. Her head tilted quizzically to the side, as if she was seeing the psychologist for the first time. "Why?"

Adora paused, and set her pen down so she could meet Catra’s probing gaze.

“I think I’m more exciting than your last psychologist, and if you put me in the hospital, they will just send someone else.” Adora explained calmly, without flinching. Catra looked dumbstruck for a solid ten seconds, baffled at the utter disregard for her safety Adora had in spades. 

“...You’re just a dipshit blonde aren’t you?”

That was Catra’s estimation of Adora, without any frills.

“You aren't the first person to feel that way.” Adora didn’t rise to the bait. She wanted to. God, she wanted to send a flying elbow over the table-to wipe the irritating expression off Catra’s face-but that wouldn’t be appropriate, professional, or mature. Angella would kill her. Slowly. 

“Oh? Have other people noticed how self important you sound? _ Shocking. _ ” Catra wasn’t bristling anymore. Her words were gasoline, adding fuel to Adora’s rising temper. She added another bullet point to her growing list of observations.

  * Catra is utterly shameless, and unafraid of verbal reproach or consequences. She definitely doesn’t handle authority figures well.



Their conversation kept circling around to Adora; and she recognized the deflection for what it was. Catra didn’t want to be analyzed. She didn’t want her vulnerabilities, or behavior spelled out by a stranger. The best way to skirt around the defenses Catra put up, was to offer an olive branch.

She needed to build trust.

“You seem to be a good judge of character” Adora wafted over the compliment, keeping her tone as light and airy as possible. “You wouldn’t make a bad psychologist if you worked on your people skills.” The words took Catra by surprise, clearly no one had offered her praise in a long time. It probably sounded strange coming from Adora, after spending the last ten minutes trying to provoke her. Plucking at the sleeves of her jumpsuit, Catra took a moment to weigh her response. Then like a switch had been flipped, she straightened, shoulders growing taut as she stared Adora down.

“Don’t be stupid. Learning how to whine, simper, and placate people beneath you is boring, Adora. It doesn’t get you anything.” 

Is that what human interaction was to Catra? 

A pointless chore?

“What does murdering people in cold blood get you?”

Catra’s chuckle was dark and humorless as she leaned in dramatically to answer.

_ “Supreme satisfaction.” _

The response made a chill crawl up Adora’s spine.

Her next note was written a little shakily. 

  * Catra gets perverse pleasure from having blood on her hands (Lacks remorse, and can be characterized as a sociopath)



There was brief silence between them while Adora tried to adjust her mental image of Catra. She didn’t want to think the woman was beyond redemption, but the evidence to the contrary was damning. There was no easy way to rehabilitate someone who revelled in hunting people like they were animals. Catra wasn’t someone who could just integrate herself back into society if she got released on good behavior. She would need to be watched, because the slippery slope she’d gone down was so steep. 

The only reason Catra wasn't facing the death penalty for her crimes was because she'd been deemed mentally unfit for trial. That diagnosis was the only one that didn't need further consideration. 

Adora wasn't sure where to take the conversation next. Catra had led her down a path full of pitfalls. She climbed out of one only to stumble over another. It felt inevitable. "What's wrong Adora, cat got your tongue? Or have you finally decided this case just is too much for you? I know it's hard living with the taste of defeat, but failure is  **_such_ ** a good look for you."

Narcissism in dubious amounts saturated every word. Catras lips were pulled back into a sneer, like she knew exactly how unenviable it was to be Adora. For an inmate who'd been denied every inalienable right a human deserved, Catra was remarkably confident in her behavioral deductions . She spoke as If she had some sort of expertise on Adora specifically and it begged the question of how? How did Catra read her so well and what did she hope to gain by dangling insightful morsels of information, for Adora to chew on? Catra shouldn't be able to guess her insecurities after one visit. 

Friends that knew Adora exceptionally well could barely understand why she tended to brood, or what sort of doubts plagued her constantly.

Catra made her feel exposed and she hated it.

Her fingers clenched around nothing and she released a breath of air she didn't know she was holding. "That's alot of assumptions about me to unpack at once." The shift in her tone made Catra's conceited smile dim, thinning into an unhappy line. "You keep talking like you know me-like an hour is long enough to know anyone." Adora stood up and her expression was steely, devoid of all the anger she felt simmering in her gut. "You're going to be very disappointed when you see me here again tomorrow, because we are just getting started _ Catra." _

Their hour was up. 

But their battle wasn't over. It thrived in the disbelieving scoff that scraped from Catra's lips. It grew in fury with the stubborn clench of Adora's jaw. It hit it's climax when Catra was left alone; fixated on the chair Adora once occupied, like it would explain why things didn't pan out how either of them wanted. 

The beginning of something new cleaved through the monotony of their old lives like wind whistling through the leaves, but it wasn't clear who had brought the typhoon to life. Adora or Catra?

\-------------------------------------------

**_I need you to suffer Adora._ **

  
  


The words pulled her out of a dead sleep, and she half expected to see Catra’s luminous glower staring back at her from the shadows. Her room was thankfully empty, except for the cartons of take out that covered her night stand, and the soft glow of the T.V. casting gentle gradients over the darkness that seemed to stretch on infinitely. Adora would kill for a few more hours of shut eye.

It wasn’t going to happen though. Not now.

Thanks to Catra.

Catra and her stupid unfathomable gaze that plagued Adora’s thoughts even when she was at home in the comfort of her bed. 

Grumbling incessantly, Adora slowly attempted to extricate herself from the sheets she’d tangled, resolving to deal with them later when she felt less pitiful. Her bare feet made contact with her carpet, and carried her to the kitchen. Poking around her fridge made her nose wrinkle in disgust, because everything was spoiled except a large gallon of milk. Shopping needed to be higher on her priority list.

She regularly forgot to eat though-so perhaps it didn’t matter.

With a heavy sigh she pilfered a clean glass from the sink, and poured herself some milk. It would suffice for an early breakfast. She needed more calcium in her diet anyways. Right now she had more greasy takeout in her body than actual blood. When she polished off the entire glass, Adora threw the empty cup back in the sink. 

Her studio apartment was small, and affordable- so her kitchen was five feet from her bedroom. Padding over to her barely functioning closet, Adora plucked out a T-shirt inscribed with a tiny cat nesting in a bed of hay. It was soft and whimsical, and Adora didn't need to explain to anyone why she found it cute. Shimmying into a pair of cargo pants was a longer process that required yanking at them aggressively till they cooperated. Once she was dressed she took out her phone scrolling through her notifications, with absentminded fingers. 

The group chat she shared with Bow and Glimmer had 34 missed messages.

Adora knew most of them were memes, but she skimmed through the texts anyways so she couldn't be accused of ignoring them. After a small debate with herself she typed an appropriate greeting, and forced herself to hit send. 

**Adora: Do you two ever sleep?**

**Glimmer: Adora!!!! Thank god. I was about to drive over to break your door down. My mom said your new case is that scary chick whose been all over the news.**

**Adora: She has a name**

**Bow: Catra Weaver. I still can't believe it. She's wanted in every state Adora. Please tell me you're being careful, and they assigned you an awesome security detail.**

**Adora: You watch too many movies.I don't need armed guards shadowing me.**

******Glimmer: Can you pretend for one minute you're not a superhero and process real fear like everyone else?....Also aren't girls like Catra your kryptonite anyways?**

Adors blinked at her phone as if it had personally offended her. 

**Adora: No. Emphatically no.**

**Bow: Adora you know your word choice improves alot when you're anxious. I wouldn't have worded it like that but Glimmer's right. You have a thing for women who are terrifying and unavailable.**

**Adora: I really don't have time for this. I have to go to work.**

Adora closed out the group chat and resisted the urge to throw her phone like a football out the window. She didn't need these constant cloying thoughts in her head about staying on the ethical and moral high ground. There was a time when the lines were blurry for her. The case before Catra had gone so horrifically wrong Adora was forced to take a sabbatical. She needed time to properly grieve. She also had to come to terms with the terrible choices that nearly cost her the career she'd been working for half her life. No one let her forget about that. Bow and Glimmer had good intentions but their concern was stifling. Adora barely knew how to comport herself around them because of it. 

  
  


_ Self imposed isolation is a terrible coping mechanism; _ The unhelpful thought made her body ache with regret. 

It also filled her with a suffocating amount of yearning. She asked Catra what she needed, but Adora couldn't answer the question herself. 

Forcing oxygen into her lungs took herculean effort, but once breathing became a normal, effortless function again she grabbed her keys and notebook so she could head back to Half Moon's Correctional Facility. The walk to the car was long. The drive was longer. It gave her an unnecessary amount of time to map out a plan for Catra. Complete transparency wasn't working. It only vilified her, and taxed her withering patience till she was running on fumes.

Today she would need to try a different tactic.

Gripping the steering wheel with renewed purpose, Adora pulled into the parking lot.

Once she was inside, the process of being inspected for contraband went faster, and Lonnie escorted her to the containment cell with minimal commentary. Adora half-listened to her while they walked, idly humming a response until they reached the same steel double doors with armed guards.

“You’re back.” Kyle appraised her quietly, not bothering to hide his surprise.

“I don’t get paid outrageous fees to sit on my ass.” Adora replied wryly, startling a chuckle from Lonnie. Despite her mercurial mood, she found some comfort in defying people’s expectations. Adora had once been exceptional at her job. She hoped to be again, once she shook the rust off, and buffed out the dents in her mental armor.

Rogelio opened the door without prompting, gesturing for to enter with a nod.

It shut behind her with a resounding click, just as the clanking of chains dragged her attention to the center of the room where Catra was waiting in her usual seat-staring at her unreadably.

“Couldn’t stay away, _ Adora? _ ” The way Catra’s mouth curled around every syllable of her name was an injustice. It sparked those indescribable feelings in her breast that made it hard to be professional. Adora couldn’t afford to be anything less though. The cost for overstepping with Catra was too high, and somehow she already felt an unknown debt mounting.

A heavy sigh eclipsed all the replies stockpiling in her throat, as Adora situated her belongings on the desk, and sat down directly opposite of her patient.

“You’d be surprised at how little could stop me from being here.”

**_With you._ **

The words went unsaid, but for a fractional second, Catra’s features softened like she expected Adora to confess something like that. In that singular moment in time, it felt like they were unwitting participants in a game that never stopped adding levels. 

Catra was always on the opposing team.

Adora never stopped chasing her.

It was inevitable.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Cats are Gross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is far later than I intended to update this but life got busy. 
> 
> I'm gonna apologize for any errors you might find cuz a good portion of this chapter was written from my phone

**They manipulated us. The Horde. Hordak, Shadow Weaver. These aren’t insurgents Catra, these are innocent people.**

**_Duh Adora. Are you just figuring this out?_ **

Catra scowled at the distorted junkyard her mind had become. Dreams were the height of impermanence for her, because they whispered of battles she’d never fought in, and tragedies she’d never endured. She’d been haunted by ghosts her entire life. They combed through her thoughts with disembodied fingers dropping clutter-and more sewage to wade through till Catra couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

Half of the conversations she endured these days sounded like a record skipping under the sharp point of a needle. They happened before. They happen again and again. Pomp and circumstance are the only tangible difference between yesteryear- and today. 

The Adora that looked like she spent her entire life shacked up in a library mirrored the Adora that carried a sword and waged war on the world. 

_ "You could come with me." _

And 

_ “While I'm here I would prefer you just be yourself _ .” Hit the same despondent chord in Catra's chest because both sweet utterances were lies. There was never room for her in Adora's perfect life. If she dug deeper into this new eloquent version of her, there would doubtlessly be a gaggle of friends that made Adora feel normal. There would be someone who encouraged her unlimited potential. There would be happiness in her own mediocrity.Catra always felt like a disruption at best; and a haunting memory at worst. 

Right now? 

She was nothing, because Adora didn’t know her.

There wasn’t even a vacancy where thoughts of Catra should be.

And that realization filled her with such incessant fury it took her breath away.

How many times would she endure Adora’s doe-eyes looking at her with disappointment? It didn’t matter what crazed vision her mind manufactured-or what reality she was currently in, the script that governed her life was still the same. She was still the broken lunatic that needed to be saved

Adora was still the guileless hero everyone fawned over.

It was despicable, and so so tiresome.

Although, admittedly between her fervent daydreams, and nightmares, the Adora that ploughed forward with reckless abandon, wasn’t the same as the tiny psychiatrist that could barely look her in the eye. They looked the same; they had the same physical quirks, but the Adora that wrote frantic notes down about her was careful. Her words weren’t thoughtless bluster; or self righteous reprimands.

They were cautious.

No version of Adora had ever been cautious.

In many prior counseling sessions, Catra had admitted to seeing things, and people that weren’t there. Since childhood, Adora had been a constant intruder in her dreams-along with  _ Arrow boy and Sparkles. _

Catra couldn't stop seeing illusions of a time that didn't exist. They made her teeter constantly between exhaustion and madness. In one of her first jaunts in the psychiatric ward, a good Samaritan had delivered her thrashing body to an assembly of nurses because she tried to scratch her goddamn eyes out. Anything was better than seeing more. She was tired of seeing. The unbearable pocket of existence where she set the world on fire for Adora. 

Because Adora left. 

Because Catra wasn't enough. 

Years in a mental prison eventually landed her in a real prison where every aspect of her life was coordinated by her jailors. The routine never changed. Catra woke up soaked in sweat, trembling from nightmares where blood and death reigned supreme. At 0600, Lonnie escorted her to the chow hall ahead of the prison rush. She ate in silence, choking down the disgusting gruel, till it settled like a greasy weight in her gut. Then it was right back to her solitary chamber until the next meal time.

The afternoon brought her one singular reprieve. 

Catra was allowed one hour of exercise outside every day, but it wasn’t exactly a congenial affair. The Warden sectioned off a tiny yard for her, so she couldn’t physically interact with the other vagrants in prison. People spoke to her through a barbed electric fence-so they could live with a false sense of security. 

It would be frighteningly easy to short out the fuse box,and cut through the metal meshings-so she could introduce herself properly to her peers in gen pop. That would mean risking another trip to the infirmary though, and Catra was still healing from the last incident. The laughable one, that ended with a rusty shiv sliding between her ribs. 

She wasn't even sure which inmate targeted her, or if the attack was justified. If prompted, Catra could barely recall the incident at all. An ambush in the shower, where most of the women were cloaked in steam, guaranteed there were no witnesses. If someone saw what happened they weren’t eager to snitch-but in Catra’s opinion it didn’t matter. Who did it- Or why. Her rap sheet spoke for itself; and experience told her she probably deserved to bleed. 

She always got her just desserts. 

"Catra, get up."

Her hour in the sun was being cut short, and Catra wasn't keen on moving.

She had spent a disproportionate amount of time lying motionless on her back, relishing in the cool breeze; while Lonnie paced back and forth beside her. Her eyes didn't even open at the command; because that would be explicit consent to take more of her time and energy. 

Catra felt like a passenger on a train that never stopped. 

The constant weight of her shackles lingered even when her hands were free. The depressing lack of control over what happened next stole the air from her lungs. One minute she was lounging lazily under the sun's cloying gaze, the next Lonnie's imposing figure loomed over her, blotting out the light. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be." The warning was soft, even as Catra was bodily dragged to her feet. 

Uttering a tired groan, her wrists were wrenched behind her, forced into submission by handcuffs that dug into already raw flesh. "Does it look like I'm fighting?" Catra asked with a calm she didn't feel.

Lonnie normally wasn't a stringent rule follower. 

Catra normally didn't get brought to heel so roughly because they had an understanding. 

"It's time for your psych eval. You are not allowed to be late for that. You can nap in your cell." 

Of course Adora was the catalyst for a change in her routine.

Some things  _ never _ changed. 

The journey to her cell was silent, only distorted by the the echo of her tattered, laceless sneakers against the concrete. Lonnie didn't even spare her a glance as she was delivered to the isolation chamber. Catra went quietly to her normal seat- Dropping gracefully onto her perch, so she could avoid another galling choice being taken from her. Rogelio appeared like a bulky shadow to secure her chains so she was bolted to the floor. 

Catra was left alone after that. 

Time passed. 

Then Adora appeared, and Catra was struck with sudden violent revulsion when she noticed the kitten artfully depicted on her shirt. 

"Couldn't stay away Adora?"

“You’d be surprised at how little could stop me from being here.”

Their words reverberated in the tiny space like steel clashing in battle, and Catra leaned back to get a better look at her opponent. Today Adora looked tired. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them that hadn't been there before. 

"Your life must be disappointing, if time with me sounds better than time at home?"

Adora's next look toed the edge of Stern. 

Catra contemplated clawing out her eyes again. Her fingers dig into the table, flexing in an experimental motion. 

"We really should be talking about you."

That's all any nerd with a clipboard ever wanted to talk about. Adora wouldn't endear herself to Catra this way; and that was a victory in itself.

"Your file states you're adopted? How old were you when you when Ms. Weaver took you in?"

Adora watched her vigilantly like a hawk. 

Catra's face gave nothing away. 

"Ten."

"Was your adopted mother kind to you?"

"Pass."

"Your file says you tore her throat out with your teeth Catra."

"Is that supposed to be a question?" Steel entered her tone, and Adora flinched away- determined to not to cut herself on the razor sharp warning. "Obviously it happened. There's tons of crime scene photos in there." 

"It doesn't say why." 

She could taste Selene Weaver's blood on her palate sometimes. Catra smiled, in an utterly unrepentant sort of way. 

"She wouldn't buy me a pony." Her joke fell flat. 

Adora didn't even chuckle. 

Was it because she remembered Shadow Weaver? Did she remember years of futile running from her shadow minions? Did she see the same distorted reality Catra saw every day? 

"Do you regret it? At all? Did you feel satisfied when she was gone?"

Catra decided she didn't like this version of Adora with her probing questions, and endless inquiries. They never discussed such things before. There was never a reason too. The atrocities Shadow Weaver committed were written on her skin, in bruises- and scars. Adora always bandaged them in her dreams, and never asked stupid questions. 

" What answer would make you happy Adora?" Catra leaned forward, her chains dragging ominously against the table's surface as she examined Adora from head to toe. "I'm distraught over what I've done. I think about it all the time." The soft admission almost sounded sincere, Catra even managed to conjure a fake tear, by biting down on her tongue. However, after a beat of silence, the copper taste of blood ended her little charade; sending her into a fit of hooting laughter. "Fuck that. I'd do it again. That's the real fucking tragedy in this, you can only kill someone once." 

That was a real regret of hers. 

In her dreams; in real life- Shadow Weaver was a tyrannical storm. Every vision of her was tempestuous- whittling Catra down to nothing; so she could be reshaped into something else. 

Did they even notate the signs of abuse in her file? 

Did anyone fucking care?

No. They cared that a teenager tore her mother's throat out with her teeth, and then savagely decapitated her so she could watch her head blow up in a microwave. 

Adora looked at her with something akin to understanding and it made Catra want to hiss because the woman in front of her never stopped being clueless. 

"Did you ever love her Catra?"

The question lingered between them and it was evident that Adora wanted to know the answer. Catra remembered the soft maternal looks other parents gave their children; and how desperately she wanted to be looked at like that. She remembered throwing herself into literal street fights because someone belittled Ms. Weaver in front of her. She remembered curling up on the roof in the Fright Zone because Shadow Weaver hated seeing her face every day while her precious Adora defected to join the rebellion.

"You tell me Doctor. Can you love someone to  _ death _ ?"

Adora blinked, unsure. Uneasy despite these disgusting emotions being her area of expertise. Catra watched transfixed as she tried to manufacture an answer. "I think we are all products of our environment, and if she taught you that love is supposed to hurt, then what you did makes sense." Adora shrugged, and it was such a profound gesture; because it lacked any sort of judgement. "I think if she was a good person, perhaps her death would have been cleaner, or she wouldn't have died at all. You were so young, Catra. Minors that do things like this, rarely go this far without being pushed. I think you were pushed."

Adora reached out, and Catra eyed her approaching hand warily. 

It landed on her clenched fist, despicably soft in spite of every painful word leaving Adora's mouth. Catra was woefully unprepared for the contact; and she stared at the uncalloused fingers caressing her knuckles. 

It shouldn't feel good. 

Catra wasn't sure why it felt impossible to tear her hands away. Her mismatching irises locked with Adora's soft cloying pools of blue. "I think your hoodie is ugly as hell." The words tumbling out were so far removed from their current topic of conversation, they took a moment to register. 

Eventually, Adora snorted and withdrew her hands, so they stopped their maddening ministrations. 

  
  


"Do you not like Cats,  _ Catra _ ?" 

"No. They are vile, stinky creatures. They shed and they piss on everything out of spite."

Adora was out right laughing now, and it didn't make her stomach lurch oddly at all.

"You do realize the poetic irony in you hating cats? Right?"

Catra glowered, incensed beyond reason when Adora laughed harder at her apparent disgust. 

"You do realize there's not an adorable fucking thing about you,  _ Adora _ ." Catra mimicked her tone, and found herself regretting ever opening her mouth when her court assigned psychologist kept smiling at her- like she was a charming woodland creature instead of an incarcerated inmate. 

  
  


"We're the same then. Neither of us is EVER gonna live up to our namesakes."

Adora's smile was blinding and Catra scowled at her, suddenly unable to meet her gaze because the gentle appreciation staring back burned. "Whatever. Stop dressing like a loser. I don't deserve to suffer because of your terrible fashion sense."

Catra didn't quite understand why that made Adora laugh, but she hated the noise. It made her want to smile, and laugh too like they used too. 

In her dreams they laughed alot. 

But she didn't find anything about her reality funny. 

Being near Adora hurt more than anything Shadow Weaver ever did. 

It never  **_stopped hurting_ ** . 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!! Next chapter is gonna be soonish- whenever I'm back with my laptop and have time haha


End file.
